“I can’t, Will, and don’t go looking for Gurney just yet if you want to do me a favor.”
His only hope, Shayne knew, was to get Fred Gurney and Gerta Ross before the police picked them up. If either of them spilled the truth about being with him at the Fun Club while Flight Sixty-two was winging toward Palm Beach-
Not that he could gain more than a little time, he realized as an afterthought. As soon as Dawson was taken from the plane and told his story, Shayne’s alibi would evaporate into thin air and Painter would never be convinced that he hadn’t intentionally stayed behind to take some part in the kidnap pay-off.
Gentry remained silent at the other end of the wire while these thoughts raced through Shayne’s mind. The detective gripped the receiver tightly and went on in a strained voice: “Have you heard anything about ex-Senator Irvin lately?”
“That old goat?” Gentry exploded. “No. He was around town about a year ago.”
“Do you want him?” Shayne asked sharply.
“Stinking up my jail?” Gentry asked indignantly.
“Any queer stuff been passed around lately?”
“Not that I’ve heard of. What-”
“Skip it. You might want to ask the senator about a dead man in his basement garage,” Shayne interrupted. “Here’s the address. The faster you get some boys out there the better.” He swiftly described the location of the house where he’d been held prisoner. “That’s about all. The senator has a gun-pal named Perry who might’ve had something to do with the killing. The less they’re allowed to talk after you pick them up the better it’ll be for a friend of yours named Mike Shayne.”
“I don’t get any of this, Mike. If you’re in the clear-”
“I’m not. I need a few hours on my own, Will.” Shayne hung up and pushed the door open. He was wet with sweat from head to foot, and his big hands were clenched into hard fists.
He went out of the place swiftly, got behind the wheel of the commandeered car and headed south on Miami Avenue.
Chapter Seven
Shayne came to a sudden decision when he reached Flagler Street. He needed a bath and some clothes, and he could use a drink. He swung to the left on Flagler, deserted now at two-thirty in the morning, drove two blocks toward the bay front and turned right to the side entrance of an apartment building on the north bank of the Miami River.
He parked, took the keys from the ignition, went in through the side door and across the empty lobby on unshod feet.
The night clerk was a slight, middle-aged man. When awake, he bustled around with a great show of energy, his lips compressed and three deep lines of worry between his eyes. Now he was hunched forward at the desk, asleep. His cheek was pressed against one outstretched arm. He looked neither precise nor efficient. His mouth was laxly open, and the lines between the eyes were not so deep.
Shayne stopped beside the desk and considered the sleeping man gravely for a moment. It seemed to him a wonderful thing to be able to sleep like that, as though he had nothing whatever on his mind. Then the thought came that all over Miami there were people sleeping soundly, with nothing whatever on their minds and with all the lines of daytime worry smoothed from their brows because they had chosen other professions than that of the harried private detective.
He touched the man on the elbow and said apologetically, “Wake up, Henry.”
Henry gave a little start, an involuntary twitching of his shoulder muscles, and snorted faintly.
Shayne joggled his elbow and said, “Henry,” louder than before.
Henry sat up and blinked at him, then compressed his lips and managed to look primly efficient. The deep vertical lines showed between his eyes again and deepened a trifle as he became aware of Shayne’s appearance.
“My goodness, Mr. Shayne,” he said, “I thought you’d left us. Is something wrong?” he added delicately.
Shayne asked, “Did a taxi driver bring my Gladstone back here with a message saying I’d missed the plane?”
“Yes, he did. I’d almost forgotten that. In fact, I’m afraid it slipped my mind altogether when those policemen from the Beach were in here asking about you.”
“When was that?”
“Half an hour ago, I imagine.” Henry glanced at the clock. “I gathered from the way they talked and acted that they suspected you hadn’t left town on the midnight plane, Mr. Shayne.”
Shayne’s ragged brows lifted. “So?”
“So, knowing that-er-you are sometimes in difficulties with policemen from across the bay, I decided it might be just as well not to mention the bag or the driver’s message.”
“You shouldn’t lie to the police just to keep me out of trouble, Henry.” Shayne’s voice was warm with comradeship and gratitude. Henry had been night clerk at the apartment hotel for years, and it wasn’t the first time he’d lied for Shayne.
“Oh, I didn’t lie to them. I really can’t help it if my memory is faulty, Mr. Shayne.”
Shayne said, “I hope it won’t improve if they question you again. I hear you already have another occupant for my apartment.”
“Yes. A Mr. Slocum. He rented it this afternoon.” The little man didn’t ask how Shayne knew this. The years had accustomed him to the fact that the detective often knew all sorts of amazing things.
“But he hasn’t taken possession yet?”
“I believe not. He took one grip up when he rented the apartment, but I believe the rest of his luggage is at a local hotel and he’s coming in with it in the morning.”
“Have you anything else for me? I may decide to stay in town for some time.”
The clerk spread out his thin hands helplessly. “Nothing, Mr. Shayne. Not a single thing.”
Shayne reached up and slowly massaged his ear lobe. “I’m not my usual fashionable self, as you’ll notice, Henry. I had to leave a certain place rather suddenly and I had to grab what was handy.”
Henry looked at him primly, his gaze sliding down the stiff, dirty coveralls to Shayne’s bony ankles and his feet clad only in a pair of socks. He nodded with a sober man-to-man air and murmured, “One might deduce the lady’s husband is not as tall as you, Mr. Shayne, and a trifle bulkier in build.”
Shayne grinned and said, “That’s a fair job of deduction, Henry. Do you suppose Mr. Slocum would mind if I took my suitcase up to his apartment and borrowed the bathroom and put on some clothes that fit me a little better?”
“I don’t see how he would ever know about it. But I’m afraid he has the only key. You didn’t turn yours in when you checked out.”
Shayne frowned. “Force of habit, I suppose, from carrying that key in my pocket for so many years. But don’t worry about that-But wait a minute,” he added sharply. “I left my key ring behind with my clothes. You must have more than one extra key.”
“We’ve a master key, of course.”
“Of course,” Shayne repeated. He reached for the large brass ring Henry lifted from a hook behind the desk. “Now if you’ll get my bag-”
“It’s right here.” The clerk opened a wooden gate and slid the suitcase out. “Joe is probably asleep on the top floor,” he added as they went toward the elevators. “He has a cot up there in the corridor.” He put his finger on the signal button and held it there.
“One more favor,” Shayne said as they waited for the buzzer to waken Joe. “I need a drink, Henry. You know how it is when a man needs a drink.”
Henry said, “I can imagine,” in a tone that told Shayne he couldn’t imagine at all.
“And I’m broke. There’s an all-night restaurant around the corner where they keep a few bottles under the counter for emergencies like this. Just mention my name.”
Henry nodded wisely. There was a clanking overhead, indicating that the elevator was coming down.
“How about slipping around there and getting a bottle for me while Joe takes me up? I’ll send him right down to watch the desk.”