His voice grew stronger and more assured as he recounted the story to Shayne. In the telling, part of the burden was shifted to Shayne’s wide shoulders, and the horror of it lessened. Shayne’s receptive expression and calm manner helped him, and he told the story in detail, with correct continuity, and ended by saying: “I really intended to give myself up to the police in spite of Doctor Thompson’s advice, Shayne. Or, if they came for me, I was determined to tell them the truth. Then I remembered you. I tried to phone you earlier, but the clerk said you were out. What — what do you make of it, Shayne?”
Shayne frowned heavily, crushed out a cigarette, and said, “One thing I don’t like at all is your medical friend’s diagnosis.”
“We’ve been friends for years. As I told you, I felt he was the only person I could go to. I’ve known Tommy ever since he hung out his shingle in Miami.”
“That’s what makes it look bad,” Shayne pointed out. “I know very little about the medical aspects of a case such as this. If he were just a doctor — some stranger passing an objective judgment — I’d be much less inclined to listen to him. Doctors are a queer breed. I’ve seen them make some bad mistakes while stubbornly insisting they know all about something they don’t understand at all. But if this man wanted to believe you — if he knows you and likes you, and yet—” Shayne flung out one big hand in a gesture that said, There you are. What can you expect me to believe?
“All I can do is tell you the truth,” said Devlin wretchedly. “It may upset all the dogmas of medical science,” he went on, rising to his feet and walking nervously around the room. “I don’t claim I’m insane. How would any man know when his mind has been blacked out for days?” he went on, his voice rising hysterically. “I simply say I’m telling you the truth as I know it. It’s up to you as a detective to discover what actually happened — and to a board of medical experts to decide on the effects of amnesia on a man’s mind. If there’s actually anything to this lie detector the police use, I’m not afraid to take the test.” He turned to face Shayne with agonized eyes, then slumped into his chair again.
Shayne was thoughtfully silent, a crease drawing his heavy red brows together. He said, abruptly, “Let me see that letter from the girl named Janet.”
Devlin took the envelope from his pocket and handed it over without a word. Shayne read it carefully, then asked, “Where is this cruise ship now?”
“At Key West. She’s due to anchor off Miami tomorrow to discharge passengers who joined the cruise here.”
“This girl — this Janet — what’s her last name?” He dropped the question casually.
Devlin looked at him quickly, surprised. “I’ve told you — I don’t know,” he said flatly. “I know it sounds crazy,” he went on, irritation creeping into his voice, “but it’s not really so queer that I’ve forgotten. There are a couple of letters from her in my office files — in the Masters file,” he amended.
“Bert Masters,” Shayne muttered. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met his wife. Was there anything queer about her death?”
“Nothing except that it seemed queer she’d commit suicide,” Devlin answered. “There seemed to be no motive, and she didn’t leave a note. People who knew her well can’t imagine why on earth she would take her own life. Lily was much younger than Bert,” he added.
“Did you know her well?”
“Fairly well. I’ve visited in their home a few times. I’ve known Bert Masters a long time — handled his insurance. It was quite natural that his wife came to me a couple of years ago when she wanted insurance.”
“How much?”
“Ten thousand. She made her sister the beneficiary.”
“Janet?”
“Why, yes. I thought I explained that was how I originally got in touch with her.”
“Then you must know her name,” Shayne insisted. “It was on the policy. Your company paid the money over to her.”
Devlin’s face lighted up as though a memory was breaking through. “Of course I remember her maiden name. It was Elwell — Janet Elwell—” He repeated the name over and over, sighed heavily, and said, “She married after the policy was issued and neglected to inform me or have the policy changed. After her sister’s death our New York office tried to get in touch with Janet Elwell at the address we had. It took them a couple of days to trace down her married name and find her.” He sighed again. “Her married name almost comes back to my mind — but I can’t grasp it.”
“Couldn’t Bert Masters tell you what it is?”
“I’m certain he could.”
“Do you know him well enough to wake him at this time of the morning to ask a favor?”
Devlin hesitated only momentarily, nodded, and said, “Of course, but I don’t like to call anybody at this—”
“Go to it.” Shayne motioned toward the telephone. “Tell him it’s extremely important that you have his wife’s sister’s married name at once. If we can get a message to her at Key West we might solve a lot of things fast.” He settled back and lit a cigarette while Devlin called.
Devlin asked, “Is this Bert Masters’s residence? I’d like to speak to Mr. Masters, please. It’s very important.”
He waited a moment, then said, “Is this Morgan? This is Arthur Devlin, Morgan. That’s right. Yes — I’m back, and I must talk to Mr. Masters.”
He listened again and his shoulders began to sag. “Maybe you could help me, Morgan,” he said. “I need to know the name of Mrs. Masters’s sister, Janet. Her married name.”
He waited, and after a moment said dejectedly, “I see. Of course, if you refuse to wake him.” His voice trailed off and he cradled the receiver.
“Who’s Morgan?” Shayne asked.
“Bert Masters’s secretary,” Devlin told him. “A rude, officious and overbearing person. He refused to bother Masters. I’ve never understood why on earth Masters keeps the man.”
“Her name is in your office file,” he reminded Devlin. “We could go there now and find it.” He started to his feet but Devlin shook his head.
“The office is closed and locked. I haven’t even a key to get in with,” he reminded the detective. “Can’t it wait until they open in the morning?”
“I suppose it will have to wait,” Shayne conceded. “Now, when Janet wrote you about her sister’s letter, exactly what did she say?”
“Not much. She didn’t know me personally, you see, and she was cautious about putting anything down on paper. She did say that Lily had mentioned my name once or twice — in friendly terms, I gathered — and she knew no one else with whom she might discuss her sister’s blackmailer. I replied somewhat guardedly, also, suggesting to Janet that she let me know more fully exactly what she suspected. In her second letter she mentioned the cruise she was going on, wondering if it would be possible for me to spend the evening with her aboard the ship while it was anchored off Miami.”
Devlin paused and Shayne asked sharply, “Are you going to tell me it was sheer coincidence that you were going to be on the cruise ship together?”
“No. I’m not going to tell you that.” Devlin flushed and he went on doggedly: “I didn’t decide to take the cruise until after receiving Janet’s letter. My vacation was coming up and I had no particular plans. The idea of a Caribbean cruise appealed to me, and — the tone of Janet’s letters — some indefinable part of herself that she managed to convey — gave me the impression that it would be pleasant sailing on a vacation cruise with her.”
“Without her husband?” Shayne asked idly.
The flush deepened on Devlin’s cheeks. “Haven’t I mentioned that she lost her husband? Less than a year after she married.”
“No,” said Shayne affably, “you didn’t mention that.” Devlin started to say something, but Shayne hurried on: “About Lily Masters’s death — you say you’re sure it was suicide, but without apparent motive? How did you feel about the question Janet raised — of reopening the case?”