“Now then,” said Peabody, closing the door firmly, “please explain this unwarranted intrusion.”
Shayne said roughly, “Come off your high horse, Peabody. You know why I’m here as well as I do.”
The broker did not reply. He stood very stiff and still, waiting for the detective to go on.
“Are you going to deny,” demanded Shayne hotly, “that you know Miss Rogell retained me today to investigate her brother’s death?”
A faintly contemptuous smile twitched Peabody’s tight lips. “I don’t feel myself under any obligation to either deny or confirm anything, Mr. Shayne.”
“The hell you say. This is a murder investigation, Peabody.”
“Murder? May I ask who the victim is?”
“Miss Rogell is certain her brother was murdered.”
“I was present at the time of his death,” Peabody pointed out coldly. “I was there when his own doctor signed a death certificate stating his demise was due to natural causes. I am also fully aware that our excellent police department made careful investigation into the circumstances of John Rogell’s death and are completely satisfied with their results. This hardly adds up to murder in my lexicon.”
“What about the bereaved widow’s pet bitch?” demanded Shayne.
“Ah, yes. Daffy. A most unpleasant little creature. What about her?”
“I don’t believe anyone signed a death certificate for her.”
“But there was another thorough police investigation,” Peabody reminded him acidly. “With the same negative results. See here,” he went on impatiently. “I have guests in the other room. I suggest you investigate and be damned, but I fail to see that it is any concern of mine.”
“You know I’ve got Daffy’s body,” Shayne challenged. “And if it is proved that the dog died from a dose of poison intended for Miss Rogell, it will be accepted as prima-facie evidence that the attempt was made on her life because she refused to accept the findings on her brother. An autopsy on John Rogell will then be a foregone conclusion.”
“I know nothing of the sort,” said Peabody indifferently. “I understood that Daffy had been interred and that Mrs. Rogell… quite properly in my opinion… refused to have the body of her pet desecrated to satisfy an old woman’s obviously absurd suspicions.”
Shayne said harshly, “I think you’re lying, Peabody. Don’t tell me Anita didn’t get on the phone to you the moment she discovered Daffy had been dug up.”
“I don’t intend to stand here and be insulted in my own home,” said Peabody. “Leave immediately or I’ll call the police and ledge a formal complaint.”
Shayne slapped him. The force of his openhanded blow rocked the broker sideways and he staggered to keep his footing. Shayne’s eyes were blazing as his right hand shot out and grabbed the scarlet lapels of the smoking jacket tightly at Peabody’s throat and jerked him upright.
“Lodge all the goddamned complaints you want,” he grated. “But listen to one thing, Peabody, and pass the word along to anybody else who may be interested.” He lifted the broker off the floor and shook him viciously, and Peabody’s face went ashen and he made gurgling noises in his throat.
“If anything happens to Lucy Hamilton, I’ll kill the man who’s responsible. Personally, and with distinct pleasure. I don’t know whether it was your idea or not, but if it was, it was the worst goddamned mistake you ever made. Tell Anita and Charles and all the rest of them that.” He flung Peabody back angrily and the broker crashed into a desk behind him.
Shayne turned and jerked the door open and stalked out of the study. He looked neither to right nor left as he strode through the end of the living room and out the entryway. He slammed the outer door behind him and stabbed viciously at the elevator button, frustrated rage mingling with the realization that he had been utterly childish in his handling of the situation.
The black mood stayed with him while he drove to his hotel and went up to his corner suite. There was nothing he could do now except wait for a report from Will Gentry. He was morally certain what the report would be, and he shrank from the decision he would have to make if it were determined that Rogell had been murdered.
The glasses and bottles were on the center table where he and Rourke had left them, and Shayne put the whiskey bottle back on the shelf, went into the kitchen and rinsed out the tall glass Rourke had drunk from, put ice cubes in it and filled it with water.
Back in the living room he filled his smaller glass with cognac and settled back with a cigarette, taking alternate sips of liquor and ice water while his brooding gaze moved restlessly about the familiar room and his thoughts went over and over the personalities involved in the Rogell case, seeking some clue to a course of action that would insure Lucy’s safety.
The telephone rang beside him before he had half-finished his drink. He lifted it on the first ring and said, “Hello.”
Lucy Hamilton’s voice came over the wire, without the familiar lilt in it, but calm and steady and purposefuclass="underline"
“Michael. Just listen to me and don’t ask questions. I’m all right. I’ll be all right if you drop the Rogell case… don’t have the dog’s stomach analyzed. I will be released tomorrow afternoon if the funeral goes off on schedule.” Her calm rendition of prepared lines changed to staccato intensity. “Don’t pay any attention…”
There was a click and then silence. Shayne’s hand was unsteady as he replaced the receiver. Subconsciously, he had expected her call. Whoever was holding Lucy would be smart enough to know the only pressure that could be exerted on the detective would be his belief that she was safe and would be released safely if he followed orders. On the other hand, how many kidnap victims were returned safe after the ransom was paid?
Shayne’s big hand gripped the wine-glass with white-knuckled force as he slowly drained it without taking it from his lips. He sat looking at the empty glass for a long moment and his other hand stretched out mechanically toward the bottle. He arrested the motion in mid-air, shook his head from side to side and deliberately drew back his arm and threw the glass across the room where it shattered against the wall.
He knew there would be no sleep for him that night. And he didn’t want any more liquor just then. There was nothing in the world he could do about Lucy, yet he had to do something. He couldn’t sit there comfortably for hours with only the company of his own thoughts. If he did, he’d go on drinking. And he didn’t want that.
He got up and paced restlessly up and down the room. He should, of course, take the kidnap notes to Will Gentry at once-throw the entire resources of the police department into the search for her and her abductor.
But he knew he wasn’t going to do that. Once the alarm was out, Lucy’s life wouldn’t be worth a plugged nickel. Alone, he could accomplish exactly as much as the police department. Which was exactly nothing.
Yet he knew he had to try. He couldn’t just sit and wait for the autopsy report. He was already positive in his own mind that the finding would be murder. There was no other possible reason for Lucy being snatched.
If there were only some point of departure. Some end that he could pick up with a faint hope of unravelling the knot.
He stopped his restless pacing, got the two notes out of his pocket and read them both again. The one point of contact was the bum who had delivered the notes to the Shamrock bartender. Let’s see, now. He came in with a ten-dollar bill that he broke by buying a boilermaker. That would be about eighty cents in a place like the Shamrock. Another dime for the phone call to Western Union. And three dollars left behind to pay the messenger. That left the guy six dollars profit from the transaction.
Wait a minute, though! Where was the man who had given him the notes and the ten-dollar bill while he was in the barroom? It stood to reason they must be complete strangers. The only safe way to handle a thing like that was to cruise around and pick up a man off the street who had never seen you before and couldn’t possibly put the finger on you if he were apprehended. So, how would you know you could trust such a bum to carry out his part of the bargain and spend three of the precious ten dollars to get the notes delivered?