“It’s too bad,” Shayne went on smoothly, “about Henderson and the painting.”
Mr. Montrose agreed that it was, indeed.
“I’ve heard it was actually a Raphael.”
Mr. Montrose cautiously admitted that it might have been.
“I,” Shayne told him, “am in touch with the party now in possession of the masterpiece.”
Mr. Montrose’s gasp assured Shayne that he had the man’s full attention now. “You?”
“I have been instructed to proceed with negotiations for its return,” Shayne told him suavely.
Mr. Montrose’s voice twittered excitedly over the wire. “Upon what conditions?”
“I presume you have full authority to act for Mr. Brighton in the matter?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. Full authority. But I don’t understand.”
“My client is a Mr. Ray Gordon from New York,” Shayne told him deliberately. “His terms are very reasonable because he’s anxious to get rid of it before it scorches his hands. He asks ten thousand dollars in cash.”
A sharp indrawing of breath came over the wire. Whether it expressed anger or relief, Shayne could not tell. There was a slight pause before Mr. Montrose replied cautiously, “That is an exceedingly large sum.”
“Let’s get down to business,” Shayne said brusquely. “You know damned well it’s dirt cheap.”
“It is-not unreasonable.”
“It’s plenty reasonable and you know it. The canvas is worth ten or a hundred times that amount. It’s a little too hot to handle, and Gordon is willing to do the right thing. Here are the conditions,” he went on sharply. “One word to the police and it’s all off-you’ll never see the Raphael again. I’ll bring it to the house at eleven-thirty today, on the dot. My client may or may not be with me, but there’ll be enough quick-trigger boys around so you’d better not set a trap. Have the money ready in small bills and you can have Henderson on hand to identify the painting. Get that straight. Eleven-thirty sharp! We’re playing with dynamite, and the fuse has to be timed to the minute.”
“I–I understand. And I agree to those conditions. The money will be waiting, and I give you my pledge to preserve strict secrecy.”
“Be sure that you do,” Shayne warned harshly. He hung up and went back to the bed to sit down and smoke another cigarette.
Then he called The Everglades Hotel and asked for 614. Gordon’s clipped voice answered the phone.
The detective said, “Shayne talking.”
There was a pause. Then Gordon said, “All right. Talk.”
“What am I offered for a genuine Raphael this morning?”
Gordon began swearing strange oaths, and Shayne interrupted happily, “Tut, tut. Get wise to yourself, guy.”
Gordon swore some more. Shayne waited until he was completely through before saying placidly, “Mr. Montrose over at the Brighton house has got your pretty little picture. But he-er-is afraid of it. Things are a little bit too tough for him to hold onto it, what with a few stray murders and such. It’s going into the open market. Want to bid?”
“Hell, no. I don’t want to buy the damned thing.”
“You’re already in two grand,” Shayne reminded him bleakly. “Besides-well, we won’t mention what else. But I think you know what I mean. I can make a deal with Montrose for ten grand.”
“Ten grand? Why, that’s not a tenth-”
“That’s why you’d better not pass up the chance. Montrose hasn’t got the guts to see the deal through. There’s a nice profit in it for a man that’s not afraid of the heat-like you.”
“What’s the lay?” Gordon rasped.
“It’s at the Brighton house. I’m handling the deal. You drive up to the front door at eleven-forty-that’s twenty minutes to twelve-with ten G’s in your pocket. You can bring your nasty little boy with his Goddamned Luger if you want, and an art expert to pass on the picture. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“You’ll get your guts blasted out,” Gordon warned him, “if this is a plant.”
“And you’ll get yours blasted out,” Shayne told him unemotionally, “if you pull up in front of the Brighton house more than a minute before or after eleven-forty.”
“Why the timing? It sounds like a phony.”
“That,” Shayne told him, “is something for you to worry about. We play this my way or not at all.”
When Gordon didn’t answer immediately, Shayne said, “Listen, louse. The only reason I’m letting you in on this is because it means money in my pocket. But I’m not going to beg you. Take it or leave it-and Goddamn sudden.”
“I’ll take it,” Gordon said thickly.
“Eleven-forty,” Shayne reminded him and hung up. He felt drugged with pain and weakness as he went to the bed and sat down. But he still had a call to make, and he didn’t feel up to talking to Painter without a drink inside of him. Dragging himself back to the phone he ordered a quart of Martell sent up. When it came he sat on the edge of the bed and drank deeply out of the bottle.
The pungent stuff took immediate effect. He was his old self as he picked up the phone again and called the office of the Miami Beach chief of detectives.
Painter’s voice sounded strained and uneasy over the wire. When Shayne told him who it was, he exclaimed, “It’s after ten o’clock, Shayne.”
“Things are clearing up nicely,” Shayne soothed him. “But you’re a lousy cheapskate. I don’t see anything in the papers about you getting generous and raising the reward you’re offering personally.”
“Good God! The state is offering two thousand.”
“And your measly contribution is two hundred and fifty. Is that all it’s worth to you to break this case-with full credit?”
“Full credit?” Painter sounded as though he were strangling.
“That’s the lay. I don’t want any publicity. It’s bad for my business. But I can use cash.”
“Come clean,” Painter begged.
“Here’s my offer, fair and square. Double the reward you’ve offered. Guarantee me that every penny goes into my pocket and my name doesn’t appear.”
“Five hundred?” Painter sounded startled. “That’s pretty stiff for me to put up.”
“Is your job worth that?” asked Shayne stridently.
“Well-yes, of course.”
“It won’t be worth a plugged nickel if I bust this case under your nose and don’t let you in on it.”
“That’s blackmail,” Painter protested.
“Call it anything you like, just so I get the money. Think it over, pal. Take it or leave it.”
Painter thought it over-for thirty seconds. He said unhappily, “I’m in a hole. I’ll play it your way.”
“Right. You got any men at Brighton’s place?”
“There’s one stationed in the house.”
“Drag him out right away. Scatter about six or eight in plain clothes around on the outside; cover the street both ways and every exit from the grounds. Keep them out of sight and give orders not to let a soul leave the grounds after eleven-thirty. Got that?” Painter said he had it.
“And don’t let any reporters on the grounds after eleven-thirty. Better call all the papers right away and tell them to have their best men in your office at twelve o’clock. Promise them the story of the year-and you won’t be missing it.”
“Tell me what to expect.”
Shayne chuckled happily. “I can tell you this much. Have the coroner and undertaker standing by.”
“Wait! You swore there wouldn’t be any more killing.”
“This’ll be justifiable homicide.” Shayne chuckled. “You’ll get a medal for saving the state hanging money. Be hanging around outside the grounds out of sight about a quarter of twelve. Don’t, for God’s sake, come busting in and spoiling my show until the shooting starts.”
“Shooting? Now look here, Shayne-
“I’m just guessing.” Shayne hung up and fortified himself with another long pull from the bottle. Then he put it in his pocket and went downstairs, feeling almost human again.
At the desk he paid for the extras he had ordered, and went up the street to Pelham Joyce’s studio.
Joyce met him at the door, tremendously excited. “Perhaps you had a finger in this,” he charged.