They were alone in a small private office. Shayne released her hands when Gantry came through the doorway and said, “I’ll get your stuff, Mr. Smith,” then retreated down the corridor.
Elsa Roche took a compact from her purse, opened it, and turned aside to peer into the mirror. “It was difficult to find you.” She had control of her voice now, and it was almost flippant. “I called around at the different hotels and learned you were registered at the Moderne but weren’t in yet. Then I called the police station to ask them to watch out for you around town and have you call me at once. I talked to Sergeant Gantry, and when I described you he laughed and said he’d just booked a man named John Smith who answered your description. I thought it might be you, so I came down to see.”
They heard Gantry’s footsteps coming toward them in the corridor. He came in and handed Shayne a sealed envelope.
Shayne opened it and examined the contents, nodded and said, “Thanks, sergeant,” gravely. “Do I just walk out of here?”
Gantry smiled thinly and glanced at Mrs. Roche. “Suppose we say you’re paroled in her custody. That what you want, Mrs. Roche?”
She snapped her compact shut. “It was all a stupid mistake in the first place,” she said arrogantly. “You can see for yourself Mr. Smith isn’t drunk.”
“I admit he’s sobered up fast,” Gantry agreed.
“So just cross off that ridiculous charge against him.” She stepped forward and took Shayne’s arm confidently. “My car is outside the main entrance.”
Gantry preceded them down the wide hallway and opened a door leading out onto the front entrance of the city hall. The Buick which Shayne had seen at the Roche house stood at the bottom of a flight of wide concrete steps. Elsa clung to Shayne’s arm as they descended. He opened the left-hand door for her to get in. She started the motor and waited for him to get in, then put the car in gear and drove to Centerville’s main street without speaking.
Shayne lounged back on the cushions, lit a cigarette, and waited for her to start talking. She drove competently and with grave intensity, turning left on the main street and following it through the outskirts of town onto the eastward highway. When they were beyond the city limits she said, “I hope you don’t mind being kidnaped.”
“Have you ever visited the city jail?” Shayne countered.
“No.”
“If you had, you’d know that being kidnaped is a pleasure.”
“Jimmy and Seth discussed you thoroughly after you left tonight,” she confided. “They seemed to think you were quite notorious in your profession.”
“I’ve got a good publicity man.”
They had left the village far behind. The highway was dark and deserted, winding through a wooded valley, the headlights glowing upon a stream on one side and a mountain slope on the other. Elsa drove purposefully, sitting erect and watching the road carefully. Presently she slowed and turned off onto a dirt road leading down a gentle incline to a flat wooded grove in a bend of the river. She parked between two overspreading trees on the bank of the stream, cut off the motor and headlights and leaned forward with both hands clasped on the steering wheel.
Shayne meditatively puffed on his cigarette and listened to the sound of the river and the chirping crickets and wondered how Lucy was getting along with her two Kentucky cavaliers.
“Did you see George in jail?” Elsa asked suddenly.
“Didn’t you guess that was why I got myself locked up?”
“Yes. I guessed that.”
“I talked to him,” Shayne said quietly.
“How is he?”
Shayne thought he detected eagerness or anxiety in her tone. He turned quickly to look at her. She was leaning farther forward, her chin on her hands, her eyes staring straight ahead. He said, “Seems well enough. Quite cheerful, in fact. He’s not worrying about the murder charge. I got the impression he has a couple of aces up his sleeve.”
“Does he know… about the men he was trusting to give him an alibi?” Anxiety was definitely in her voice now.
“I told him that angle was shot. It didn’t seem to perturb him very much. He’s…” Shayne paused, groping for the right words to describe George Brand’s attitude. “… very sure of himself. Not vain, but with the certitude of a man who knows exactly the odds against him and how to beat them.”
She said, “I know,” in a stifled voice. She raised her head suddenly and beat one doubled fist against the steering wheel. “I’m frightened, Mr. Shayne. I don’t know what to do. I had to talk to someone. From the things Jimmy and Seth said about you I gathered…” She hesitated, turning toward him.
“What,” asked Shayne, “did you gather?”
“That you’re tough and hardboiled, but basically honest. Seth and Mr. Persona had an argument about it after you left. Seth doesn’t trust you.”
“Doesn’t trust me to give my all for AMOK,” he amplified.
“Yes. He insists it would be safer to get you out of town.”
“Do the police take orders from Seth Gerald?”
“Why I… not exactly orders, but…”
“I understand,” Shayne interrupted grimly. “I noticed the way they scratched the charge against me on your say-so. Did Gerald make a phone call after I left?”
“I don’t… know,” she faltered. “I went to my room while he and Mr. Persona were still arguing.”
“Why are you frightened?” Shayne demanded.
“Because… it’s all so… terrible. This hatred… and burning… and killing. I want to do what’s right. You must believe me. I do. But I don’t know what to do or who to tell.”
“That’s why you kidnaped me and brought me here,” he reminded her.
“I can’t tell you… if Mr. Persona is right about you.”
“You mean if I’m the sort of guy to sell out for his five grand. I’m not.”
“I want to believe you,” she declared. “Things are all mixed up. I’ve been an awful damned fool, Mr. Shayne.”
“In what way?”
“You can’t imagine the… the mess I’m in. If I say a word, Jimmy threatens to come right out and accuse me of having taken George Brand as my lover. And that would make things look worse for him, don’t you see? Jimmy says it would provide the one thing they need to convict George… a motive.”
“Was he your lover?” Shayne demanded harshly.
“No. There was nothing… really. Just that I was bored with Charles. He was always too busy to take me out, and he didn’t think it was right for us to go dancing while the men were on strike and hungry, and he disapproved of my drinking, too.” Her voice trailed off listlessly.
“And you enjoyed playing with fire,” Shayne said brutally.
Elsa Roche shivered. “I… what do you mean?”
“The world is full of women like you. Too rich and too bored and too dumb. You were attracted to George Brand just as a debutante might be attracted to her chauffeur.”
“No!” she cried. “That’s not true. You’ve no right to talk to me like that.” She turned the ignition key and pressed the button to start the motor.
Shayne said, “Hold it,” and took the key from the ignition. “How far did this affair with Brand go? How many people knew about it?” Shayne demanded.
“It’s none of your business,” she snapped. “Give me that key.”
“Okay,” said Shayne lazily. “It’s your funeral… and Brand’s.” He replaced the key in the ignition.
Elsa laid her face on her hands that were clasped together on the wheel. Her body slumped wearily. “Nobody actually knows… about George and me… except Jimmy. But I think Seth has suspected… for some time.”
Shayne groaned and said, “You’d better give it to me straight if I’m going to help any. Your nasty-natured little brother-in-law is perfectly correct in saying it would practically tie a knot around Brand’s neck if it’s proven that you and he were playing around together.”
“We weren’t… not that way. I’ve been with him exactly twice,” she went on with forced calm. “Both times I slipped away from a country club dance… where I’d gone with other people… and met him out beyond the parking lot and we drove to a roadside place and had a few drinks. And that’s absolutely all.”