CHAPTER 9
Parking his car in the hotel garage, Shayne went around to the side entrance and up to his apartment. With one glass of brandy inside him, he poured out another glassful and carried it into the bathroom. The lavatory mirror was no kinder than the one in the automobile. He emptied the brandy glass and then went to the kitchen and drank a couple of glasses of ice water. His head throbbed each time he moved, but he was beginning to get used to it.
Coming back to the bathroom he turned on the hot-water faucet in the tub, went into the living-room shrugging off his coat. He heard something fall to the carpet and looked down at a gold-filigreed fountain pen. He blinked, trying to remember where he had seen it before, finally recalled stealing it from the sickroom for some vague purpose which didn’t seem important any more. He picked it up and dropped it in the table drawer, hurried into the bedroom to undress, and got back to the tub of steaming water before it overflowed.
After soaking himself as red as a boiled lobster in the tub and punishing his flesh with a cold needle shower he decided that life might be worth while after all. Dressed only in undershirt and shorts he padded out to the kitchen and put coffee water on to boil. Then he dressed in clean flannels and a white sport shirt without a tie.
He made a pot of strong coffee, but his stomach muscles rebelled at the thought of food. Carrying the Dripolator into the living-room he drank three cups of the pungent stuff liberally laced with cognac. By the end of that, all was decidedly well with the world. He even essayed his customary tuneless whistle while he carried things back to the kitchen and set about preparing to receive company.
His preparations consisted of squeezing oranges and lemons and mixing a quantity of the juice with eggs, gin, grenadine, and crushed ice in a tall silver cocktail shaker which he gave a vigorous shaking up as he carried it into the living-room. He then set out cocktail glasses and sat down to wait for Charlotte.
The shaker had a heavy coating of frost when her knock sounded on the door. Shayne got up and let her in. She was wearing a beret and a dashing sports costume which showed off her figure extremely well. She lifted her face to Shayne as soon as he closed the door, and he kissed her clinging pouted lips. She pressed herself against the length of him and closed her eyes.
Drawing away at last, she breathed deeply, with full-lunged ecstasy. Her eyes widened in dismay as she saw the ugly bruise on his forehead. “What did you run into, sweet?”
“Your chauffeur’s foot.” He took her arm and led her to the table.
“Oscar?”
“I don’t know his name. We didn’t get that far with the amenities.” He poured out two pinkish cocktails. “Some sort of squarehead. He looks as if he might be named Oscar.”
“When did it happen-and why?”
“This afternoon. I gathered that he doesn’t care for inquisitive detectives.” Shayne grinned and lifted his glass. “Drink up.”
She lifted hers and clinked it against his glass. “Here’s to sex, sin, and such,” she proposed.
They both drank. Shayne poured out two more and pulled up a deep chair for Charlotte. He gave her a cigarette when she sat down, lit it and one for himself. “Did you tell Doctor Pedique where you were coming?”
“I certainly didn’t.” Her eyes sparkled rebelliously. “I slipped out. I don’t know what they think I am, keeping me cooped up like I was in a convent.”
“Maybe they think you’ve taken the vow,” Shayne suggested.
Charlotte wrinkled up her nose at him. “They call it twenty-four-hour duty. That was the arrangement when I took the case. They have another nurse now, but I’m still supposed to stick around every minute.”
Shayne lifted his glass and sipped at it. “Which must be plenty tough on a gal with the curves you’ve got scattered here and there.”
“I’ll say. I left a swell boy friend behind in the big city when I went out on this case.” She leaned back and stretched out long legs, her skirt sliding above her knees.
Shayne moved his chair a little closer and laid his hand over hers.
“You’re not supposed to leave the house, eh?”
“I’ve got strict orders to be on hand twenty-four hours every day,” she said resentfully. She sipped her cocktail and watched him from beneath lowered lashes.
“Of course,” said Shayne, “there’s Doctor Pedique and Clarence. You shouldn’t get too lonesome with them around.”
She said, “Oh, them,” making a wry face.
Shayne grinned. “I had a hunch they were maybe like that.”
“And how.” She set down her empty glass. “The whole gang over there is screwy, if you ask me.”
“How long have you been on the case?”
“Pedique and I went on it together just before they shipped him down here. But I didn’t come here to talk about cases. I thought you were a live number. You didn’t miss giving me the eye that first night when you came.”
“Give me time to get steamed up.” Shayne grinned. He emptied his glass, poured out two more cocktails. She tilted her head on one side and watched him.
“You sure mix pretty cocktails. Good, too. And they’ve got authority. I can feel just those two. They get me all hot inside. You know.” Her gaze was slumbrously passionate.
Shayne said, “Yeh. I know. Just relax. You’re among friends.”
She took a sip and leaned closer to him so her head touched his shoulder. “I won’t be responsible after I drink about two more. You’ll have to take care of me.”
“I can do that.” Shayne slipped his arm about her shoulders.
She giggled. “Yeh. I bet. Don’t take too good care of me. Anything goes, see? Anything. Just so you promise to send me home in a taxi at eleven-thirty.”
Shayne rubbed the lobe of her ear between thumb and forefinger and promised to see she got back on time. Then he switched the conversation back to the subject that interested him.
“So Pedique was called in on the case just before the patient left for New York?”
“Yeh. We both got a hurry call just about in time to catch the train.”
“I wonder why they changed doctors so suddenly?”
“I dunno. Rich people are funny. I think I did hear someone say that Monty had a fuss with the other doctor, though. Didn’t think he was doing the old boy any good.”
“Monty?”
“Yeh. Montrose. He practically runs things with the old man sick.”
“Is Pedique doing the patient any good?” Shayne asked suddenly.
“Not so you could notice it. Take it from me, he’s more interested in the kids than the old man.”
“Do you mean Clarence and Phyllis?”
“Yeh. That’s Doctor Pedique’s real racket, you know.”
“No. I didn’t know.”
“Sure. Screwy stuff. I’ve worked with him before. I don’t know how they came to call him in for the old man. But I didn’t come here to talk shop.”
Shayne grinned at her briefly and pressed his palm against her body beneath her arm.
“Don’t think I’m going to forget why you came here. But I’m curious about the setup over there. The two young folks aren’t Pedique’s patients, are they?”
“You’d think so, all right. He’s practically turned the old man over to Dr. Hilliard. I’ve got a hunch maybe that’s why they called Pedique in-using Mr. Brighton as a blind.”
“Is that so? They seemed normal enough.”
“Hell! You don’t know the half of it.” Charlotte tensed and pressed her cheek down against Shayne’s arm, turned her head slowly, and her teeth worried his flesh.
He laughed, said, “Hey! We need another drink,” and drew away from her to empty the shaker in their two glasses.
She leaned back laxly and watched him. Her face was flushed, and there was a hot glitter in her eyes.
“We’ll drink these, and I’ll mix some more.”
“I don’t know whether I need any more.” She took hers and emptied it avidly.
“Might as well let your hair all the way down-if you know what I mean.”
“God, yes. I know. I’ve always wanted to get drunk with a redheaded man. You know- drunk.” She spoke the last word with a feverish intensity. Her lips were moist and bluish-red.